


A Part of Your World-breaking the door

by SprainedMyAnkleFlippingtheFirewall



Series: A Part of Your World (the Magnus Archives AU) [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A look at friendship and trust, Multi, Other, a good 'person'?, and choices, and fluidity, and lack thereof, and loneliness, what about when the monster is also a good friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SprainedMyAnkleFlippingtheFirewall/pseuds/SprainedMyAnkleFlippingtheFirewall
Summary: [4]As she watched her former companions advance on her, there was only one thought in Ryan's mind."From which step had it gone wrong?"Maybe she shouldn't have told the two Archivists so much, or gone to the archives at all. But she had needed the information only they could provide. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to rescue that man from the Lonely, but how could she have left him there? Maybe she shouldn't have gone to the Hunters, or joined Annabelle and the others at all. She was never like them, was she? They were monsters weren't they? They had chosen long ago, and she-?OR: The final part of the series, where certain repercussions surface, the protag runs into some (a lot of) trouble, and realizes just how sneaky spiders can be.
Series: A Part of Your World (the Magnus Archives AU) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124258
Comments: 10
Kudos: 3





	1. Exhibitionist and Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final stretch, part four of the entire story, which is basically about a Spiral/Web oc who finds her way into the world of the entities, ends up befriending Annabelle and her team of avatars, and the increasingly serious problems she gets into.  
> This is when loose ends are tied up and certain choices made. Admittedly it is the heaviest part of the entire work, with a lot of discussion of betrayal and depression/self doubt (and also some fluff). Heed the content warnings, and I hope you enjoy some good angst (as I did writing it).  
> Oh yes, and of course, strongly recommend for readers to look at the first three parts leading up to this one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day right after Ryan realizes what she had said to Simon, when she goes in search of information to help protect her friend and the Archivists learn some things about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some light compulsion, mentions of 'radical groups', lots of exposition (sorry if that is not your thing, it was necessary to tell instead of show for this chapter but it won't become a regular thing)

If the Magnus Institute was bad for a normal person, its gaze felt even stronger for someone associated with the Spiral. From the outside, it seemed an unassuming gray and green colored building. As soon as she stepped inside, Ryan experienced the mental equivalent of not knowing where to put her hands. Everywhere her senses reached, she was met with the Eye’s gaze. After trying out a few different approaches as she walked the length of the corridor down to the front desk, she resigned to folding herself back into herself, just a little. She didn’t want to give it too much satisfaction.

The receptionist’s tone was friendly, at least.

“Hi, do you have an appointment?”

She didn’t know if texting Sasha the night before counted, but she nodded all the same.

The door in front was slightly ajar, and she could hear a few raised voices as she pushed it fully open. In a desperate attempt to direct her attention away from the rest of the place, Ryan clung onto the words before she realized what she was doing.

“Oh, so you're just part of this organization devoted to risking their lives in hunting down avatars now? When were you planning on telling me?” Sasha’s voice, more emotional than Ryan had ever heard her.

“You know that’s not what they are.” A man’s voice, speaking through gritted teeth, his back towards the door as she stepped inside and looked up.

“I... Oh, hi Ryan, sorry, didn't see you there.” Sasha turned to her

“Oh no, I-if you guys want I can come back later.”

“Yes, if you could give us a minute. Thank you.”

Ryan was in no mood to wait, but less so to intrude on whatever was going on. A short while later, the man left, and Sasha led her to a separate room where Jon sat behind a desk piled with stacks of papers.

“Hi, sorry about that. Anyway, you should find what you’re looking for in here.”

“Right. Um, artifacts will do, but if it’s possible I’d like to connect to some people who have been touched by the Buried, unless that’s classified, of course.”

At this Sasha and Jon exchanged a glance.

“We’re certainly up for sharing it with you. May I ask why you’re searching for this? Or is it, part of your collection?” Sasha’s tone was still casual.

Ryan sighed, feeling that lying wouldn’t help her much, and filled them in on the situation.

“It’s fine. It’s-I don’t need any help, I just need to find someone who carries memory of the Buried, that’ll be enough.”

The glance exchanged was heavier this time. Even though the two Archivists were looking at each other, she could feel their gaze on her.

“We can provide you the information no problem, but, before that, there are a few things we’ve been meaning to ask you.” Jon’s voice was serious as he looked to meet Ryan’s eyes.

“Alright, go on ahead.”

The Spiral avatar seemed a bit surprised by this turn of events, but nevertheless pulled up a chair and sat down, obviously bracing herself for what was to come.

“Is something wrong?”

“That would depend.” Jon replied, feeling slightly guilty, but pressed on. It did seem rude to spring their friend like this, but Sasha and himself had been thinking about it for some time, and now that the opportunity presented itself, it was impossible to let it go.

“Right…”

“Are you an avatar?”

“Wh-what? I mean, I guess, um, it’s more of an arbitrary category to me. I never thought these classifications made strict logical sense.” Ryan leaned forwards in her chair, clearly surprised by this question.

“Yes, the category is arbitrary. But how do you see yourself?”

“I…I never thought much about myself in terms of that. I guess I do count as one, though I don’t strongly identify.” Her fingers fidgeted with the arm rest. She was beginning to get uncomfortable, but did not make a move to fight the compulsion.

After a few seconds, Sasha moved to ask the next question.

“Why are you trying to get on good terms with Annabelle’s group?”

“I enjoy hanging out with you guys. I guess that’s it.”

“Are you part of any other organizations?”

“No.” The reply was almost immediate.

“Are you planning on killing any avatars?”

“What-?!? No-I mean, unless they seriously threaten me first or something.”

In the space of silence to follow, Ryan grabbed the chance to ask her own question.

“Guys, is this because I went to speak with the Hunters?”

Sasha nodded.

“You know what they do. Utilize the Hunt and Slaughter to target other avatars who like to work alone. It used to be smaller, a group specifically to feed the Hunt. Ever since Trevor Herbet and Julia Montauk joined, they’ve become much more proactive, and…radical in their methods, holding strongly to the view that they act for the greater good of the world, and are willing to sacrifice a lot for it. One of Annabelle’s group had a rather bad run-in with them in the past. They don’t bother us right now because we as a collective are harder to deal with, and also because Annabelle manages to hang our position in a delicate balance between organizations like the Hunters, and the opposite, the avatar groups that seek to actively cause destruction. But both of these are constantly looking for ways to either pull us to their side, or sabotage us somehow so we wouldn’t be able to join the other side. That’s why I thought it best to ask.”

“You thought I was, what, a secret agent?”

“You could very likely have been. And a very powerful one at that.”

“So when-when did all of this happen?”

“I know this must be a lot to comprehend. We’ve been watching for some time, actually.” Sasha nodded at Jon.

“From when you were first introduced, I thought the title of Spiral avatar did not seem to fit. From then on your actions were always enough to be counted as genuinely serving these entities, but never went as far as to dispel the possibility that you saw yourself as a human, utilizing the powers of the Spiral and Web for whatever purpose. I suppose the final question is the same as the first. There isn’t a strict boundary, of course, but there is a choice, a self-defined identity. For most avatars, even if they did not choose to walk right into the entity, do have to make a choice at some point about whether they want to serve it, to dedicate a part of their existence to it. Did you make that choice?”

“No. I didn’t and don’t think I will.” Ryan’s voice was way calmer than she felt.

“When I first encountered the entities, felt the truth and power they carried, I knew I wanted to be a part of that. To satisfy my curiosity if nothing else. You may think it childish, and you would be very right on that. In comparison to the way most people become a part of them it is very childish, but...they don’t understand what it feels like. To know that there is an entire world out there, wider than you could ever imagine.”

“Afterwards...it really didn’t feel like I was any different. All of my powers, or changes I went through, seemed just a natural development of who I was before.”

“But, it’s true that there was never a clear instant when I made the choice to give myself to them. And now, after the time I’ve spent exploring this world, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to make that decision. I don’t know if that’s possible, or if it differs for specific situations, but…unless absolutely necessary, I can’t draw a line like that where I think reality is fluid. That and the problem of...well, feeding it.”

“I never thought that feeding it needed to be in a bad, or evil way, and so far my methods work pretty well. But this seems to be quite different from what most other avatars do, and what most humans’ idea of them is, so in that respect, I don’t feel like I identified with them. That’s…part of why I went to the Hunters, to see their perspective. And I suppose you were right about me. If I had liked what they had in mind, I might very likely have become some sort of double agent. I hung out with you guys because I enjoyed it yes, but I was also gathering information, thinking over the question of how I wanted to position myself, what stance I ought to take with the issue of ‘monster versus human’.”

“I never thought of myself as the only one putting on a performance though. God, it’s really all cards on the table isn’t it. I suppose at least it’s the fitting place to spill. I enjoy your company, and all of you are very nice to be around. But I haven’t forgotten what you do, what you are. I’ve ‘gauged’ most of the feeding habits of the group, and some of their attitudes about it and I’m still not entirely sure how to feel about that.”

“And…recently, it’s become more complicated with the…you see, my specific power isn’t just easy to utilize in a morally acceptable manner, it also happens to be…particularly effective in bringing people out of the influence of other entities. I’m only beginning to experiment with that, but I suppose I should have seen it all along.”

“Um, the first time I encountered the Vast, I felt how easy it was for me to weave a connection that could anchor someone.” Tentatively, Ryan pushed her memories out towards the presence of the two Archivists, until they could feel it too. The sky around her, the feeling of her arms wrapped around the tourist, his quivering figure. Simon Fairchild looking at her in hostile amusement. The atmosphere around them changing. And then the fear was gone, overshadowed by something more “present”. The connection she had drawn.

“I have been trying that for some time now, small experiments, a story here and there, and I will want to keep doing that in the future, to help people, using these powers. I…I still think it’s good to help people, and that whatever positive emotions I can utilize have meaning, and stand a chance against, stuff like fear. But, well, that obviously puts me on the opposite side of what avatars typically do, or believe. I mean, I’ll be taking directly from them…so yea, I think that’s the main reason why I don’t strongly identify as one, and even if I did, no-one else would agree, and in the face of that, it wouldn’t really matter how I saw myself, would it?”

There was a space of silence as the words hung in the air. Already, Ryan was regretting having shared so much, (‘it’s good to help people’, what was this, a ted talk?) but in the moment it had seemed so natural to go on, and tell them everything. She sat back in her chair, slightly tired, half expecting them to mock her or at least be cynical about it. They did not.

“Don’t tell the others, please. I, um, I’m not planning on hiding it from them. It’s just, I would rather they didn’t find out from you but saw for themselves.”

“Of course.” Jon nodded.

“Ryan, I understand your choice to do this. If you need protection, or help, we’ll see what we can do.” Sasha said.

“It’s alright. Thank you. The avatar scene in the city is anarchist by nature, no one rules over it, and everyone fends for themselves. I think I like it that way, in a sense. But if I do need something, I’ll ask.”

“Alright.” The Archivists’ gaze was softer now as they looked to each other and back to her.

“Yes, so the people you can find are right over here, but you’ll need to see if any of them are willing to talk. If you name yourself as being associated with the Magnus Institute it’s pretty much a definitive no.” Sasha leaned to the right from where she sat on Jon’s desk and pulled out a slip of paper from the middle of the pile. Ryan took it gladly, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the calm before the storm is now passed. Hope I nailed the Archivist atmosphere of creepy but also quite nice actually.


	2. The Little Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the protag runs into a certain sea captain and I demonstrate my profound lovehate relationship with the Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self doubt, self harm (psychological), depression, Lonely typical aesthetics

The mist was practically spilling from the apartment window when she looked up to search for what she had felt from two blocks away. 

Ryan knew that no-one else could sense it, no-one human at least, and for those that could its presence it was probably nowhere as strong. 

It was blue, light grayish blue, like the soft rain on a deserted street when you were the only witness, or the buildings and the sky in late afternoon when everything blended together. Under any other circumstance it would have been beautiful, and maybe it was even now. 

Without a moment’s hesitation she was through the main entrance and sprinting up the stairs. 

She had no previous experience with the Lonely, but had an inkling that it would not be difficult to handle. 

The door was locked. Beyond it, she could feel the presence of its inhabitant gradually slipping away. They were faint like a shadow, but she could still feel them there.  _ Just in time _ .

She knocked, hard, knowing there would probably be no answer the first time around. 

She was debating whether to kick the door down when it finally opened. A young man in his mid twenties, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans. He looked at her hard, as if searching for something in her face, but his eyes were vacant. He did not speak and seemed hardly aware of his surroundings, not noticing as she stopped the door from closing behind him with her foot, and followed him into the living room. 

Ryan briefly entertained the idea of looking around the room to determine what would be the most effective way of pulling him back, but thought that it would only aid the Lonely to invade his privacy as if he did not exist. Besides, she was never one for elaborate tricks. Straight and simple does it.

“Hi, I’m not sure I got your name?” She said, trying to catch the man’s attention. He turned to look at her again, but did not speak. She pressed on.

“It’s alright if you don’t feel like giving it. I’m Ryan. I want to talk to you.”

“Why?” His voice was quiet, and sounded as if it had echoed through a long tunnel to reach her.

“I’m bored. You seem like an interesting person to talk to. Why not.”

She did not yet know which topic to jump off from, but was confident that by the end of the conversation, she would make him remember what it felt like to exist in connection with another person. 

It was an hour later when she left the apartment. She still didn’t know the name of the guy she had pulled from the Lonely’s grasp, though it hardly mattered. It wasn’t like she would ever be coming back-

Ryan stopped just a few steps from the stairwell. A figure was stood in front of the exit of the apartment complex, its back to the light so she could not make out its face. 

Maybe she had been distracted by the conversation just now but she had not sensed this new arrival. Even as he stepped forwards and she caught a better look at his face, she still could not put her finger on his presence. It seemed, much too vague, shifting and slipping away every time she tried.

Abruptly, bits and pieces of urban stories came to mind. If she’d known that he would be in the area, she might have been more careful. She might not have come up to the apartment at all, or would she have?

“Mr...Lukas?”

“Ryan, isn’t it? I always wondered when we’d get a chance to meet.”

As Peter Lukas advanced Ryan took a step back, but she knew it was too late to turn away now.

“I see now. I see why he calls you that. You are a little thief aren’t you?”

“What? I-”

But the world was gone before she could finish. 

She knew exactly what was happening, but everything seemed to slip away the moment she thought of it, just like the walls of the corridor, falling away into the distance, leaving her somewhere in between the vast empty space of nothing. 

Peter’s voice returned, just loud enough for her to hear, but not solid enough to grab hold of.

“I would very much love to stay and chat, but he did tell me you might find it easier to pull away if I gave you too much of a connection. Oh well.”

Panic was the first to settle. 

_ Who was this ‘he’? Had Simon tipped him off? Had someone else? No, Simon had also mentioned a ‘he’.  _ The Spiral child who killed an avatar of the Desolation,  _ he  _ told me.  _ Was it Mike then? Wait…‘The Little Thief’. The Distortion was the only one who called her that, to her face at least. But why would he, it, contact Peter Lukas? How could anyone else know that ‘title’? Who else could it be? Who was watching?  _

Clarity of the situation she was in came, and went soon after.  _ Just, try. Try to think of something to hold onto. It shouldn’t be hard. Not for you. Don’t you have so many connections? Don’t you have so many feelings, so many emotions all the time?  _

__

But soon, she found dismay and horror that every connection she turned to, with such confidence that it would work, only slipped from between her fingers as soon as she tried to close her hand around it.

_ Christine? Maybe a few weeks ago. She’s gone now, back to the world you have failed to keep one foot inside. She was never here with you. Not truly.  _

It couldn’t be. Someone as lively and outgoing as her, being...lonely?

_ But you are. You never told, never told them about your doubts, your worries. How you disliked what monsters they were. You were never comfortable with how they were so nonchalant about feeding it, hurting others. Mike, Agnes, Jane. You weren’t brave enough to tell them, to risk their hostility, or simply, the withdrawal of their good nature. You hid it from them, hid it from yourself when you were in their company. And so you have it, a friendship built on omission and performance. Do you have anything? This, here, is what you truly believe. You came into the apartment building to do what you truly wanted, what they don’t know, and now, they never will. _

Sasha and Jon know, I...I told them, everything. They know.

_ Because they were worried you might hurt them, or the others. They don't care. They don't actually know you. The Archivists collect information. They see your parts. Bits and shattered pieces. They don't see you.  _

But….Annabelle… her invitation. She helped me, she...cared about me…? 

_ Part of her game, part of her web. You don't know her. You don't know how much of what she does is a lie or serves another purpose. Could as well be all that it is, you know how weavers are like. Besides, you are stealing someone from her, you would continue if you got out of here. How do you think she would like that? _

I will be honest, then. I will tell them everything. She’ll understand. If I explain-

_ Will they understand? Stop lying to yourself, there isn't anyone else to talk to around here. Noone else to put on a show for. You can't lie to me anymore. You aren't telling them because you know they won't understand. You can feel it. You are alone in holding the position of fluidity, of caring about how you feed, trying to utilize the power you have for good. Jon and Sasha said it. They said be careful, because you are alone. Gerry said it. To toe the line is hard. Honesty will bring pain, and you’re not sure you can pay that price. But dishonesty can only reward you with false friendship. You are alone, you always have been. You thought Christine would be different, but you’re the one that's different, the only one that's out of place in both worlds. _

Fine, fine! I am alone. But that doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I’m proud of my position. I’m not going to change it, and it’s about time I was honest about it. If that means cutting away connections, then I don’t need them. I don’t need them.

_ Don’t you? Then why did you join the group in the first place? Why did you lie to Christine for so long? I don't think you ever realized just how scared you are of being alone.  _

But I...I have connections, my sensitivity’s not for nothing! With everyone I meet, everyone I’ve helped. I know them. I hear them, I can feel what they feel. 

_ You know their stories, not them. Serotonin, that's what they are to you. Frankly, I’m embarrassed I even have to point this out to you. You know that the narrator can never truly become part of the story. There is a distance, always. Sure, you know the people you meet and help and understand, you can know their every detail. But they’ll only ever be a story to you. They won't be close enough to help you out of here. They can’t make you feel any less lonely. _

She was terribly afraid of not having anything to say, because that would mean it’s over. 

But it did not take long to realize that she did indeed have nothing left to say. 

She lay down. It was cold, in the way that it was supposed to be. Cold and empty.

When she got bored of the floor, she stood up again, wandered around. No direction. She might as well be walking in circles. It made no difference. 

It was...actually kind of nice. 

There was nothing to worry about out here, in here, up here, down here, wherever here was. No moral dilemmas to worry about, no connections to break or fear the breaking of. 

Already the memories were fading, the sadness in the boy’s eyes as the cockroach crawled out of his mouth. Agnes’ voice. Worrying if Agnes thought she was childish, if she was disappointed, angry. Jane. Not being able to reach out to her. Not being able to relate to her struggles. She probably thought she was a coward, or worse, a bad friend. She was probably right about that. All of them had walked that path because there was no other choice, and here she was, sauntering into the Spiral’s house like she owned the place. Sasha...Jon...how long had they watched her without her knowledge? How long had they thought of her as a traitor and a liar? They had been right about that, in a sense. She might have been. Maybe she already was. Mike. Mike had probably been the one to tell Simon about her.  _ Killed a Desolation avatar without lifting a finger. _ A danger, a threat. That’s why Peter Lukas had done this. 

And Christine… god she could not yet bear to think of that night. 

Already the memories were fading, and soon there would be no pain. Nothing to overwhelm her senses. Free from all the whirlwind of emotions she has to take in every second of being in the world, or being within the vicinity of another consciousness, or even just being alone with her thoughts and memories. Soon, there would be nothing but peace and quiet. Maybe this was where she was meant to be. She hadn’t rested in such a long time, had forgotten what it felt like to rest, to not think about all of this, to not know.

She was almost sure she had forgotten how to feel anything when a bright yellow doorknob rammed its way into the small of her back, and Ryan found that she still knew pain.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lonely is actually the scariest one to me, and part of that is because it could come for anyone. It doesn’t depend on where you stand in society or what you do. You could be perfectly happy the one instant and then, just, not. Also, I think that people who haven’t been touched by it before don’t know to fear it as much as they should.  
> Of the entities that are most powerful in our current world I would say Lonely is only slightly behind the Web and the Corruption (both of which are directly facilitated by current power structures). Its victims are extremely easy to cultivate and the only thing that holds it back is that its avatars don’t like interacting with people. 
> 
> And yes a doorknob in the back is officially one of Michael's moves now.


	3. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The protag has a short discussion about identity with a certain Distortion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some of Michael's corridor aesthetics

“I wouldn’t have thought throwing doorknobs into people was one of your moves.” Ryan looked up from where she had fallen. Even shrouded by the mist of the Lonely the color of the Distortion hurt her eyes in that beautiful, familiar way.

“I thought you might need it.”

It said.

“That really hurt.”

“Good.”

“It’s very you though.”

Michael smiled in reply, and rapped its knuckles on the wooden frame of the doorway that hung in the middle of nowhere.

“Coming?”

The memory she last had of the corridor returned, alongside the fear, the first dose of emotion she had felt for a while. But it was distant, like she was reading a description of the emotion instead of experiencing it.

She sat there for a while as she considered this offer. She knew she was going to take it, there was no other way out, but an inertia seemed to root her to the ground. Michael did nothing to prompt her, standing in front of his door with his own brand of stillness, looking down at her.

Eventually, she got up and walked towards the entryway. He stepped aside, bowing her in with a polite smile. 

Along the rows of twisting colors they walked. She was slow at first, gradually picking up pace as the fog drained from her mind. Beside her Michael hummed a light tune that made her ears tingle.

She had no idea where they were going, but it felt right to walk, to be moving. 

It was strange, but once she had gotten into the rhythm, Ryan found that she didn’t want the walk with Michael to end, and to be alone again in such short notice. And as if to her command, the corridor stretched on. 

She only realized that there were tears on her face when she caught her reflection in a passing mirror. The twentieth, or the thousandth they had passed. 

“So, you rescue people now.” Michael’s voice. Lightly amused, as always.

“Not just beginning from now. I’ve been trying it out for some time, and this certainly isn’t my first proper attempt. But yea, I...like to use my powers freely, and a lot of the times it isn’t to serve fear. Seemed such a waste for my stories to be limited to that. You’ve probably always seen that about me.”

“Yes, I did suspect.”

…… 

“They won’t be happy about this.” he sounded, disappointed? Expectant? It was hard to tell.

“It’s fine. Another day another dollar. I-I knew how they would think of it when I made the decision. It’s about time they found out.”

She could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks now, warm against her cold skin. Hurriedly she wiped at them. Michael made no move to indicate that he had seen. 

“It. It really isn’t silly to care about good things. I think. But the others seem to accept the harm they do, necessary or not, like it’s nothing. Is it, just genuine apathy? Or...I don’t know. They never felt like bad people, but they never talk about stuff like feeding, not properly. It’s an accepted fact, that harming others is a given part of being what they are. And I...I don’t know how comfortable I am with that anymore. Am I wrong? Am I…’delusional’, thinking of using these powers for good? I honestly just... God, I’m really out on another level here, aren’t I, telling this to you, a literal monster.”

“Hmm. You remind me of Michael.” 

“Oh, oh, sorry, about that, I didn’t mean-” she suddenly wished the corridor would end soon, before she gets the chance to say something stupid that might upset it. She had heard about Michael from Sasha, gone to search for that story the moment she became acquainted with the archives.

“Not exactly like Michael though.” It turned to her fully, and her breath caught for a moment as she stared into its eyes. 

“No, you’re actually Gertrude Robinson. But if someone with Gertrude’s logic had Michael’s...personality, if one were to peel those two parts apart from one another, or perhaps its the other way around. It’s messy isn’t it, the myriad things that make up what you call a ‘person’. A ‘performance’.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Her heart did a little jump when Gertrude’s name was mentioned. She knew it was probably bad for her to remind Michael of the old Archivist, but so far he didn’t seem to...hate her for it? With him/it it’s always hard to tell whether he was hostile or friendly. 

“So, is that the verdict before you kill me?” she asked, hoping it would be proven to be a joke.

It laughed, loud and proper this time. The sound echoed throughout the corridors and bounced off the insides of her skull, so disorienting that she almost did not notice that they were finally coming to the end of the corridor. 

“Oh don’t be so hasty, little thief. Maybe next time.”

And with that she was outside on the street. Relief flooding her chest, she turned to find her way back home. 

The time on her phone told her that it had been three entire days.


	4. What Michael mentioned in the last chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They won't be happy about this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws are at the end and are optional for this chapter

Her hand was still shaking as she closed the apartment door firmly behind her and sat down in the nearest chair.

_ They won’t be happy about this. _

She had still underestimated exactly how they would take it, or perhaps, how far Peter Lukas was willing to go.

God it all made sense now, looking back. 

Jonah had probably been the one to tip him off, and Simon too. The old man club huh. The old bastard man club of the avatar scene.

And when he found that she was gone Lukas had gone straight to Annabelle. Or had it happened before? Just in case she got away? 

It was certainly effective. 

They met her on her way home. The day after the run-in with Peter. Mike, Jane, Agnes. Annabelle. 

When she saw them at first, she knew that something was wrong, but was still quite confused about what exactly had happened when Mike walked up and grabbed her by the shirt collar. He might not be much taller than her, but he was quite stronger than he appeared. That and the fact that a pale blue anger simply radiated from him, mixing with the overwhelming smell of ozone and threatening to throw her off balance.

“I knew it. I always knew it.” He said, 

“Mike, I-”

“When? When did you go to hunters?”

“A few weeks ago. After, after....”  _ After you took me up to the sky that night and I trusted you and I suppose you must have trusted me too. _

“Mike.” Agnes’ voice, quiet. But pulsing with the same undertones as Mike’s outward rage. 

The vast avatar sighed, and let go of the front of Ryan’s shirt. Jane had also walked up, and soon the three of them moved to stand in a semicircle around her as she backed up against the nearest wall.

By this point she had a vague idea of what was going on, though why it was such a strong reaction did not cross her mind until she caught sight of Annabelle, a few steps behind the four of them, watching intently as she made her way over as well. Realization sank in and Ryan knew, she just knew-

“What did Peter Lukas tell you.” She asked, looking directly at Annabelle. 

“This isn’t about him.” 

“Bullshit. _ What did he tell you _ ?”

“We ask the questions.” Mike said, sounding only slightly calmer than before 

“How long has this been going on?”

“I only went to see them once. I wasn- I’m not planning to have further association with them.”

“What about your little humanistic rescue missions?”

“I- It's none of your business what I do with the powers I obtained!”

She was fully prepared to have it with Mike right then and there when Jane spoke.

“You lied to us.”

Her voice sounded like it was trying very hard to be angry, but came off sounding hurt instead, and for a moment Ryan was thrown off guard. 

“And what exactly was I supposed to tell you?” She finally said, 

“I should have known.” Mike made a move to step closer, but Annabelle raised her hand.

“That’s quite enough.”

The space of silence that followed seemed to seep into the gap between them, resting on their minds like a filter, or perhaps, the clearing away of a previous filter. Glances were exchanged, and soon the three of them left without saying anything else. Agnes met Ryan’s eyes one last time but her expression was as unreadable as always.

Annabelle stood alone a few steps away, watching in silence as Ryan tried to catch her breathe. 

She placed a hand on the wall behind her, still shaking a bit. Her gaze had not left the weaver.

“Peter was lying- you knew. You knew. You wanted this to happen.” 

“His description of how much of a threat you were was indeed an exaggeration. And yes, I did not attempt to clarify that perspective to the others. But I do not ‘want’ this little scene other than finding it...quite necessary.” 

“Is this about...that woman I’m trying to take from the Web?”

“No. I rather enjoy having an opponent in game play, and I daresay the Mother does too.”

“Why?”

“Two things I suppose. There was really no holding Mike back. And I did need to hear it from you. It was convenient to go along with how they were reacting after hearing from Peter. So, why not?”

“Jumping a fucking interrogation on me? Really?”

“Your lies leave a stronger impact than you seem to realize. A price needs to be paid when deception is uncovered.”

“ _ Do not make this my problem _ .” 

“Alright, alright. All I’m saying is, your actions are part of larger things, that you may be oblivious to in specific instances.”

As she heard those words, the pieces seemed to finally come together. 

“You sent the Hunter. When I first met you people...you sent her.”

“I did know that you would be in the area, and I wanted the chance to see how your powers manifested, so I made sure I would be present. I did not force you to join us.”

“But...Brandon. The Desolation avatar...you told him about me. You must have.”

“Yes. An experiment. Though I did not expect he would go as far as to taunt you like that, nor did I expect you to respond as such.”

“Fine. Fine.”

Annabelle sighed.

“I suppose it was self indulgence on my part. I knew you would be highly unpredictable from the start, the first day we met. But I still wanted to have you with us. Perhaps I was curious to see what would happen, how you would choose. You surprised me you know. You hid it well, from yourself too, I daresay. Several weeks ago, if I had been told that you would take the position you do now, I might not have seen it.”

“The same for you. I always knew something was going on. I just never thought to actually pursue that feeling.”

As it became clear that nothing else remained to be said, Annabelle turned and left. 

Her phone sounded from where she’d placed it on the table, snapping Ryan out of her thoughts. It was Agnes. 

She picked it up, not knowing how she ought to feel about it. But when Agnes’ voice came through, laced with sincerity, Ryan sighed and decided to respond in kind.

“Hey, I don’t know how much use this is anymore, but I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened. I thought it would be what I wanted, but I can see now that it wasn’t. And don’t worry about Mike, he won’t cause you any more trouble. He’d probably calmed down by now.” 

“Yea yea I know. Was he the one who-?”

“Yea. He had a terrible run-in with the Hunters half a year ago.”

“No...no wonder.”

“When we first got Peter’s message, I knew he was exaggerating. And when Annabelle went along with Mike and Jane’s idea that they had to find you and ask, I did too. I had my doubts but I’ve always trusted her, and I did need to hear it from you. I know you probably don’t need this right now, and I’m not saying it justifies anything. Annabelle...she’s always mindful about things, putting more considerations into each action than anyone else can guess. The group knows what she does, how she may choose to withhold information. I’ve known it from the day we met. When she came to find me and to offer me a way out of the Lightless Flame, I knew it was partly because I would be useful to have around. I, among other things, would be able to guarantee her safety from the other branches of the Desolation. So...I was her gamble. High risk high reward. Of course, this is not to make you feel better. I thought a bit of context might help you grasp the situation. Besides, we never did talk about how the group met.”

Ryan sighed. On any other day she would be delighted to hear more of their history, but she was in no such mood that afternoon.

“Agnes, who was Brandon?”

“Who-the Desolation avatar you killed?”

“He wasn’t one of the Lightless Flame was he.”

“No, he was. But he was more of an outcast. His ideas didn’t align with theirs and they thought he would cause trouble, so they kicked him out.”

“So that’s why- you thought nobody would really mind if anything happened to him.”

“Yea.”

Later that night, she received a text from Oliver.

Oliver Banks: Are you alright? Mike told me, but he was not specific about what exactly happened.

Ryan Hu: Yes. Don’t worry about it. I suppose I knew it had to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: betrayal & interrogation related stuff. Manipulation. 
> 
> Yep, Annabelle is...Annabelle is like that.


	5. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On leaving. And the destruction of fluidity when one faces crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: excessive drinking, mentions of death & grief, the carving of hard boundaries, talks of escaping a toxic environment

Ryan had never been a big fan of alcohol. She suspected that she was somewhat intolerant to the substance since it never once failed to taste horrible. And yet, here she was, stretched out on the sofa of her living room with the day’s events rolling through her Hippocampus and a bottle in her hand. 

She had never bought any of the stuff but delivery was always convenient these days. New habits could be formed at the tip of the finger, with a single click. 

A spider had come into the corner of her room earlier. Annabelle checking up on her probably. She had not hesitated to try and kill it. 

It was back now, staring at her form on the sofa from the carpet. 

She waved the empty bottle at it.

"I'm not afraid of you!" she yelled,

"Bunch of bloody monsters."

A bell was tolling in her mind at the sound of her own words, a warning, but the sound was muffled and she was numb. It seemed far too tiring to try and cling onto that idea of fluidity now. As the nuances melted away, and her grip on safety waned, she leaned into what she could, the bare black and white boundaries that remained.

She didn’t know what they expected her to do, but knew there was no way she’d ever return to them. Even if everything was properly talked out, it felt too raw to be something she could just move on from. 

Maybe it was for the best. Yes. It was all for the best. She was never meant to be a part of them, a part of...that. It was for the best that she would essentially cut herself away now. Begin anew.

None of the distractions worked. Browsing on the internet only led her thoughts back to the situation on her mind. 

“Annabelle Cane” yielded no search results that pointed to the right person, neither did most of the others. 

She scrolled through the pages, stopping for barely a few seconds to glance over each title. She was pretty sure that it was all out of curiosity but all the while there was a vague feeling that she was _looking for something_.

She was on the verge of falling asleep when several messages from a discussion of supernatural occurrences caught her eye. She had no idea how she had ended up in the chatroom, probably clicked on an invitation or something from the website, but she could not take her eyes off the newest message.

It was a short description of Mike, followed by-

This man killed my brother. If anyone has seen him, or knows where he is, I will find him if it’s the last thing I do. I know it’s not likely that anything will turn up but I know the police aren’t going to help me, and neither is the Institute. 

The words seemed to etch themselves right into the soft flesh of her brain. 

_This man killed. This man killed my brother._

In that instance a fierce clarity flooded her mind. Of course, how could she have been so stupid? Distance brought what nothing else could, and she could see them clearly now, all of them, the bunch of monsters they were. They killed people, for necessity or not they did not care. They did not care about these things. Their kindness, or whatever show if it they had provided her...god, it had been a facade, all of it. What did those moments matter when to some people, they were just murderers? Had she seriously been there for the past few months? Been with them, been their _‘friend’_?

Blood pounded in her head. She needed to leave. She needed to do something. 

Then, a curious thought crossed her mind as she flipped to the text group chat. 

They hadn’t kicked her out yet, and she doubted they would. Carefully, she flipped through the latest messages.

There was a thrill at the tip of her fingers, the pleasure of deception, of being trusted when in fact- 

Wasn’t it all so very exciting? The way she could see all of their messages from the moment she joined. She could screenshot the lot right now, or give anything she knew about them away, and they wouldn’t even know. 

She revelled in that oblivion. They had no idea that right now, just across the screen from them, a pair of eyes was watching and thinking. A disaster waiting to happen. 

She had often wondered how a disaster would feel moments before it hit, what it would think as it looked upon the unsuspecting faces of its victims, knowing full well what was to come. She knew now.

Ryan laughed. Softly at first, then louder as she realized no-one would be around to hear. 

Yes. She would move on. Of course she would. But it wasn’t over yet. She was angry, and she needed something that could hurt.

She couldn’t remember exactly what she sent before finally sleep overcame her, but only that it brought about a sense of satisfaction so deep it seemed to seep right down into her bones. And for the first time in six months, her sleep was free of nightmares.

The next day, despite being severely hung over, she woke up feeling lighter than she’d ever been. Riding on that high, she decided it would be time to finish the game she had going with the weaver. 

The woman was not hard to find. 

She was taking a walk in the park this time, alone and encased in white threads that she could not see. Maybe she could have, once, but it would only hurt too much to be aware of them now, so her brain had blocked them out, convinced her it was already too late. But a nagging in her gut told her it wasn’t, but if she did not act on it soon, it would be.

Ryan knew the feeling well. She had waited impatiently for weeks to learn about the woman’s specific situation so that the perfect narrative could be written up. And now, the time finally felt right to take the gamble.

Finding herself a nearby park bench to sit down on, Ryan hummed a soft tune to the words trapped in the woman’s better instincts, unable to escape on their own. To the passersby it was barely audible, but she knew that those who needed to hear it would be able to.

Then, she waited.

Relief was short-lived when the woman finally showed up. Ryan motioned for her to sit down beside her on the bench. The narrative had only just begun.

  
  


“Do you want to leave?”

Her eyes were drowning. Drowning. Deep within them the desperation still reached upwards for hope of breaking the surface.   
“L-leave?”

Here is a girl tangled in the Mother’s Web. The writer sits down and tells her the story of angels that fly with their broken wings and meet up in the sky under cover of darkness. All wings are scarred and they are no longer beautiful nor have any hope of healing, but fly they do. See them now, the broken bone and bloodied feathers. See them as they soar upwards, breaking through the clouds to meet others who fly. No wings are perfect, but fly they all do. 

“I once thought I was alone. But step forwards and away and you will find others like you.”

“There is a better place out there. A place that is worth all the risk and all the pain of leaving ‘right now’ behind, of breaking what you have always clung onto.”

The girl is uncertain that she deserves it. So very very doubtful and afraid. So many excuses, the human mind is always good with excuses, especially if fear becomes a habit. The Mother knows this well.

“But, if I were to fly, and look back and see that it is…too late, that I should have done so earlier, how utterly disappointed would I be-”

“You will not be. It will not matter that you are early or late, it is always the right time. When you are up there, you will understand. And you will know that even if you were to die in the very moment when you understand, it will be alright.”

“What if I look back and see that I did not try hard enough, now that I know what reward lies above me in the sky. I will not be able to forgive myself, or live with the guilt.”

“You will not feel guilt. Quite the opposite actually. You will look back and realize that you did in fact try, under the circumstances that allowed. You tried very very hard. It is not something that you are able to fully grasp when on the ground. It is a wonderful feeling to be there. To understand, and know that you are where you should be. the past will not matter, nor will there be a deadline. The sky will always wait for those that belong to it.”

The writer passes her a white feather. She is crying now. The tears falling into water droplets along the strands of cobweb, illuminating them with the reflection of the early morning sun.

“It is up to you, of course, and all in your own time. But should you choose to come, I will be waiting.”

The feather will be gone, of course, a few seconds later when Ryan stands up to leave, and the story will be no more than a strange dream to the girl in the Mother’s Web, about angels, and flying, and broken wings, quite powerless as it seems to the waking world, but she will remember its caress on her palm, and when the time is right, she will make her choice.

_You see? You are right, weaver. I am dangerous. And I’m not afraid of you._

Satisfied, Ryan wiped her eyes and cheeks with the tissue she had prepared beforehand, and returned home. The outcome of the game was still very much up in the air, and she doubted she would want to find out, but for the time being, the story itself was more than enough. 

Somewhere, deep down, Ryan knew that the woman’s situation was not the same as her own. But for the time being, all was well, yes, yes, all was well, there would be no need to return to that place of fluidity, not when it would hurt like that. She was human, well and truly, at long last, and they were monsters, and if she should chose to leave them, what of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that moment when you've just had a serious falling out with your friends and you're still feeling hurt about it so you just sit back and google their names bcs you know, why not


	6. Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the circumstances of returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: triggering internet language (only implied, partly bcs I did not want to expend creative energy in inventing slurs to call the characters I like), mobs

That afternoon, when Ryan looked into the chatroom again, she could hardly believe her eyes.

The chat was alive with voices. It took a whole minute to get back to the first message she had sent, and another to make sense of what was going on.

From the screen, the words she had written, on record for all to see-

"240 Church Street, six in the afternoon. The one who killed your brother will be there, with a Flesh Hive and a Weaver." 

At the time she had neglected to mention Agnes. Typing her name out had seemed a bit...much, and there was no way she could write the Messiah of the Desolation. 

Through the panic she tried to recall what exactly she had intended with the message at all. She had wanted to scare the group a little, probably, show them that they too could be vulnerable, with just the right methods. Truth be told it was hard to remember what she had wanted, let the chat run away with that information however it wished? Leave it up to fate? But this...

Piled on after her message was unmistakably the formation of an internet mob. A few immediate and angry responses to the message (she had expected this), and later, a rally for a direct confrontation which was met with great enthusiasm. _ A Monster hunt.  _ Someone further along had mentioned the names of the others, though how they’d known the information she had no idea. And, mixed in with all of this, the slurs and swear words filled up every remaining space.

"We can take them, if we all go."

"WE CAN MAKE THEM PAY"

She was trying to calm herself down again when a few phrases caught her eye, and it was as if a block of ice had plunged into her heart. 

She stared at the screen for a full minute, heart pounding in her ears, not able to look away. The scene was unfolding right before her eyes, she could see the mob, feel their energy. The words, filled with anger and hatred, overlapping with the names and faces she had once known. Seconds later, she was out the door and sprinting towards the given location.

It was already five thirty, but Ryan could move fairly fast if she wanted to, or if she was angry. She could not yet understand everything about the process that had caused such aversion within her it felt like her insides were burning with a literal flame. She had no idea how she could possibly handle an entire crowd (must have been fifty people from what it looked like in the chat), but she needed to be there. 

It was worse than she had thought. The noise hit before anything else, chanting, shouts, a few especially sharp voices whose words she could make out. From her blood they drew something like terror, and something like excitement, both of which worked to accentuate the revulsion that seemed to bubble from deep within her very being. 

No less than three layers of people surrounding the entrance to the apartment, their bodies and voices moving as if in unison. The door had nearly been almost knocked down, boarded up from the other side she supposed. She had no clue how much longer it would hold, or if anyone from inside might try something more drastic before that. From within the crowd she saw more than a few weapons. 

The curtains were drawn, and she could not see inside, but she knew they were still there. She also knew they were none of them equipped with the power to handle this, unless Agnes-

Even from this distance, she could feel the energy of the crowd, the anger. And as it collided with her own, she faltered. 

Ryan had most definitely not thought this through. What was she going to do? Yell at them? Talk them off it? A chill took hold of her as she realized that she was afraid. And yet her legs marched her closer like those of a machine, gears turning where she could not see them, dragging her forwards.

She broke into a run. 

The moment she got closer enough to see their faces however, she knew what she needed to do. It came with relief and it came with ecstasy. 

Ryan had not fed for almost an entire week, and as she approached, the presence of the entire scene overwhelming to her senses, she realized that she was hungry. 

It would hurt, this story, this aesthetic. But it would be perfect. 

Quietly, she slipped into the out edges of the crowd, her own presence small enough to be ignored, and placed her hands on the shoulders of the person in front of her. 

A few minutes later, as the last of the crowd dispersed, the team came outside to find her sprawled unconscious on the front lawn. 

Consciousness does not bring the relief she’d hoped. All at once, every grotesque detail of what had just occurred came swarming back into her head. There was something rotten and sludgy about the ghosts of emotions that touched her every nerve ending, the presence of the mob, the unrelenting, senseless anger. She was crying before she had even taken in her surroundings and it felt good, like throwing up after eating something bad.

“Well, thank you, I suppose.”

Annabelle’s voice.

She wiped her eyes and sat up from where she lay on the sofa. Her head was still pounding.

“I didn’t come here for you guys. I came because I was worried what you might do. Like, I don’t know, burn the whole lot of them or something.” The lie came ready to her tongue as Ryan spoke, averting her eyes from Annabelle’s face. From her peripheral vision, she gathered that the weaver stood somewhere close by, and Mike seemed to be sat on the window sill. The others were nowhere to be seen. 

“Look, I know what you want to hear.” She sighed, 

“I chose to put your information into that chat, which you probably know by now, I did that, yes, and I honestly can’t say if I regret it. But it wasn’t supposed to turn into something like this.” 

To her great surprise, Annabelle was smiling, and not in any way that came across as unnerving. It was a genuine smile of amusement without any trace of mockery or anger.

“Why, our decisions are nothing outside of the circumstances that constrain us.”

Annoyance flared up again at the sound of those words. 

“Annabelle, don't go there-” 

“I'm not trying to confuse you. I did a bit of ‘research’. This, (she handed her phone over, page opened to the chat group) is Trevor Herbert.”

Ryan stared down at the messages. The one quick to follow her own with information about the others, and the ones which suggested more drastic action, sent by the same user. 

“What?” 

“He probably thought causing a big enough scene would justify a more directly antagonistic stance against us for the Hunters. He was right, it would have, if it had come down to that.”

“...right.”

“You were right. I would have needed to cause a much bigger scene if you hadn’t showed up.”

Agnes.

“What did you use to get them to leave like that?”

“I showed them, um, what...what I collected from our last...conversation.”

"Ah yes, that reminds me. I would like to apologize again for what happened last time, in person. I’m sorry for what we did, and I think I understand now how it feels." 

Finally, Ryan turned to look at the Messiah who had just entered the room, and the tears threatened to return again as she set eyes on her face.

"Agnes I-" 

"I'm not angry, I'm just describing what I learned. Being targeted by a crowd, it's a...unique kind of loneliness. You did intend for that to be the message, I understand it now."

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”  _ you should have heard what they called you, in that chatroom. You probably did. They were chanting pretty loudly outside the door.  _

"The mob? To be fair, it's not like we don't deserve it."

"I..."

And there it was. The fundamental conflict was still there, of course. Ryan was still one definition away from being alone in a room of monsters.

“Well, um, just so you know, if any of you are planning to enact some kind of collective revenge on those people, you know which side I’ll be on.”

To her surprise, Mike broke his silence with a laugh from his place near the window.

“Of course we know” he said, as if she was making a big fuss out of something as simple as a pizza topping preference, and was not at all suggesting that they may have to face each other in a fight if certain events were to occur. 

“Wait, so...you guys are okay with my...situation?”

“We wouldn’t hold it against you.” Agnes said.

“Of course not. We talked to the Archivists and thought it over. We...should have talked to you much earlier, before Peter had his chance.” Annabelle moved to sit beside her on the sofa.

“Guess my performance was too good for you guys to ever suspect.” Ryan grimaced.

“Right, I should probably be going. Wouldn’t want to bother you guys much longer with, um-yea.”

“Of course. I’ve texted the Archivists, we’re planning to get dinner together, if you want to, of course.” Annabelle said.

In all fairness, she probably should have said no, and returned home to at least take some time to process the recent events. But the thought of dinner with them felt good, wrapping her mind with a warmth that she had sorely missed. It was as if she had been waiting for it to happen, ever since they left her alone that day, and try as she might she could no longer lie to herself that she wanted this. Silently, she shook her head in dismay, then nodded.

This time they chose a table that was outside. 

As the laughter sounded, so very much like that first night when she had become infatuated with the chemistry of their group dynamic, Ryan turned her head to inhale a deep breath of night air and Italian food. It was nice, sat here with them. 

She knew that she was not a complete hypocrite, of course she wasn’t. Closeness brought a clarity that distance and pain had allowed her to ignore. When they had first become friends, she took a liking to them not just out of wanting to fit in or thinking that killing people was ‘hip’ or whatever, but because... they  _ were  _ genuinely likable people. Genuinely likable people, who, at the same time, terrorized others to feed their patrons and sustain themselves. The truth...was just strange like that. 

“Okay. So. Serious talk. Your position on all of this, you could have told us in the beginning, we wouldn't have minded.” Jane was leaning her head against the nearby window, looking across the table at Ryan, who looked down at her plate.

“Oh come on, there’s no way you would have accepted that kind of thing in the beginning and besides...it…”

“?”

“...felt good.” her voice was almost a whisper

“?”

“It felt good to act, to put on a show, prove that I could perform the part of being one of you so easily, it...I liked it. I enjoyed being-”

“a liar?”

“Well, yes. Sort of. Liar, performer, that kind of thing. I was also taking my time, figuring things out.”

“And, have you figured them out?” Sasha took a drink from her cup.

Ryan sighed.

She had been asked about her stance on being an eldritch entity before, and about her feelings in relation to having to terrorize others. She had brushed it off in the very beginning when they barely knew each other; she had tried her best to answer when the Archivists had asked; and, she had defended it vehemently when they had confronted her just a few days ago. But here and now, faced with the actual need to be completely honest of her own accord, telling her friends what she did not like about their actions, what she thought they should try to change, it felt harder than anything. This right here was another kind of fear, something none of them could feed on. 

However, to Ryan’s surprise, her voice was calm when she finally spoke, 

“Very well. I do have my interpretations of what it means to be who we are. I do think there are ways to be better, even as we are now. And...I want to tell you about them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Agnes was called a lot of misogynistic slurs and Mike some homophobic ones no I have no interest in writing them down (if you’ve been in a chatroom where someone was getting dogpiled for whatever reason you know what this is like, and of course, my apologies for those who haven’t and couldn’t really grasp how it feels like through my indirect descriptions but I hold to that creative decision).
> 
> Personally, I am very much conflicted about whether the mob was ‘in the right’ in this chapter, and I think it’s up to everyone to interpret whether they would side with the avatars or the mob (or neither). 
> 
> Thank you for staying with the journey until now! It’s been a long way for me, since this was the first long work I’ve written, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it. Only one chapter left to wrap some things up.


End file.
